


And We're Falling Like The Stars

by TheItsyBitsyWriter



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Gives That Hug, Explicit Language, I don't know anything, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Morning of Deployment, Non-Explicit Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tags Are Hard, angsty boys, bucky loves steve, hella sad actually, kinda angsty, kinda sad, steve loves bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheItsyBitsyWriter/pseuds/TheItsyBitsyWriter
Summary: It's the morning of Sergeant James B. Barnes's shipment out to England, and Steve Rogers's heart is breaking into a million pieces and James is completely numb.





	And We're Falling Like The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I was wondering what it was like... that morning when Bucky's regiment was shipped out? I thought about it, and this is what I came up with.  
Please do keep in mind that I have no idea how this whole thing works; how soldiers are shipped out etc. I have no military connections and nobody to tell me the proper ways around this whole thing (Google wasn't much help either). I tried my best, and my sincerest apologies to anyone who knows better and felt belittled by this, it was not at all my intention.

It's deathly quiet in their small home. There's the meager sound of water dripping slowly from a nearby tap— the tap in the sink of the kitchen, and the soft ticking of the wall-clock in the bedroom. _It's still too quiet_, Bucky thinks as he takes another long drag from his cigarette. 

He and Steve are sitting in the living room of their small apartment. It's half past five in the morning, and Brooklyn outside is beginning to stir. Steve's silent where he sits on the floor across the room, his back pressed against the wall, and Bucky's quiet too, but he's watching Steve; the way his shoulders are hunched, and his head hangs low, and his breathing is uneven. Bucky watches him sit much like a statue, and takes another drag of his smoke. 

And only when he's finished with his cigarette, does he clear his throat and says, "Steve."

Steve shakes his head, and his shoulders give a jerk— just once. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Bucky tells him.

"No."

"No?"

"No, don't you say you're sorry, 'cause you've no reason to be." Steve replies curtly, and then slowly raises his head and finally looks up at him. Bucky draws in a breathe, because _holy shit, Steve is beautiful_. Bucky knows it, has always known it, even if Steve doesn't. Where he's sitting perpendicular to the little window in their apartment, the first few broken rays of the new day's sun fall across his frame, cupping him in a gentle light, making him appear to be an angel of sort— _a savior,_ a voice inside of Bucky's mind reminds him, and he nods to himself. There's a slight rosy blush to his cheeks, that much Bucky can see in the dim light of the bulb hanging in the adjacent kitchen, and his hair's all mussed up— he'd been running his fingers through it all night. 

"God." Bucky mumbles, his voice scratchy and rough. He's been crying for a while now.

Steve shakes his head, and shifts slightly, "What?"

Bucky tips his head back so it rests against the wall, and his words slur as he speaks, "You're so fucking beautiful. Here, sit still for a minute, why don't you, darlin'? Just a minute, so I can burn your face onto my retinas. Remember you for always, just like this; beautiful."

Steve smiles, and it's small and hesitant and awkward, like the ghost of a smile from the past, then it vanishes and the most heartbreaking expression takes over his face. He clears his throat, then wrings his hands, opens his mouth to speak, and the only sound that comes out is a little choked sob. Tears well in his eyes and he ducks his head, lets them fall freely. There's hands grasping his body almost immediately, and then strong arms engulfing his smaller frame. Bucky's scent—a fine mixture of sandalwood and cigarette smoke—fills his nostrils and Steve cries harder, clings onto Bucky with a desperation to his moves.

Bucky's mumbling sweet nothings to him, and when he isn't, his mouth is pressing kisses into Steve's hair— a calming gesture. Steve's crying too much to make sense of whatever Bucky's saying, so he just clings onto him tighter, presses his face into Bucky's chest and tries to stop the next few hours from coming by the sheer force of his will. His sobs become much more harsh when Bucky's arms tighten around him further and he sinks to the floor, pulls Steve into his lap and just gently starts rubbing his hands up and down Steve's back.

"Hey," Bucky says after Steve's cries have lessened, "do you remember when I told you I loved you, the very first time?"

Steve doesn't trust his voice, doesn't trust himself to not burst into tears again, so he simply nods, face hiding in the crook of Bucky's neck now.

Bucky simply nods along, "It was after that bastard Kent smashed that beer bottle over my head, wasn't it? When I was losing so much blood that I passed out on the sidewalk?" Steve nods sharply again, tightening his arms around Bucky, remembering the awful night.

"Remember what I said the minute I woke up, on your Ma's couch? I told you that I loved you, and that I would never leave you."

"And I said that you will, one day." Steve whispers, and Bucky chuckles a little, happy to hear his best friend's voice.

"Yeah, you did. And I said that only the cold hands of death could take me from you. I meant it, Steve." Bucky says, then jerks his shoulder a little so Steve has no choice but to look up at him. "I meant it then, and I mean it now. I'll come back, Steve. I'll fight this war, and I may not win, but I will come back. Why wouldn't I? I got your pretty mug waiting for me back home."

Steve smiles at that, leans in and kisses his lover— kisses him because he can; because Bucky _allows_ him to; because there's not a single soul in the world who can tell him that it's wrong, he would never listen; because Bucky is his, and he's Bucky's, and the heavens could part and strike them down with bolts of lightning anytime, and they'd die hand-in-hand, mouths pressed together. He kisses Bucky like its the last time he ever will, but he hopes to God that it isn't. Has no choice but to hope against all hope.

And when Bucky's teeth clamp down on Steve's bottom lip and he gasps, and Bucky's tongue shamelessly slides straight into his own mouth, Steve moans— and it's loud and filthy, and his hands are running through Bucky's hair, and Bucky's are lost somewhere up his shirt. When air becomes a necessity, they part, and Steve ducks his head to kiss down Bucky's jaw, then his neck. Bucky's hands are tugging his shirt towards his head and Steve detaches his mouth from Bucky's skin only to lift his arms up.

Bucky wastes not a moment in yanking the shirt right off Steve's lanky frame, and pushes him back, until Steve's flat on his back on the cold wooden floors, and Bucky's hovering over him, one forearm resting on the floor besides Steve, and the other hand clumsily trying to undo his own belt. Steve's no better, he's just in his shorts, and the floor's cold, but he doesn't care because Bucky's warm and large above him. Steve's hands are back in Bucky's hair and he pulls him down for another searing kiss.

They had sex three times the night before— seven times if you count the four times Steve pushed Bucky against random furniture at odd times during the day, and got his frustrations fucked out of him— and Steve doesn't care if they have sex an eighth time, because he wants to remember the feeling forever— the feeling of having Bucky in his arms, on his mouth, on his skin, inside of him, around him. He wants to remember what _Bucky_ feels like, at all times. He's afraid he'll forget if Bucky's gone for too long, he's afraid he'll forget what it's like to be loved so wildly and in an all-consuming way.

"Shh, stop thinking. Shut that shit down, Steven." Bucky tells him hoarsely, his mouth pressing down Steve's jaw. Steve nods once, twist his fingers in Bucky's shorter-than-usual hair and gives a tug. Bucky moans loudly, and it is so very _filthy,_ that Steve nearly comes undone at the sound. Bucky teeth clamp down on the skin on Steve's throat and it makes him shudder; the dull stab of pain followed by the warmth and wetness of Bucky's tongue lapping at the broken skin. "There," he whispers and leans up to look Steve in the eye, and smiles, "now everyone knows not to mess with my baby."

Steve smiles brightly, tilts his head a little, and blinks at Bucky, "I love you."

Bucky's breathing falters, and his eyes sparkle with unshed tears, his mouth quivers where it's stretched into a smile— and Steve realizes that Bucky's on the verge of breaking down into tears. Then he leans down, captures Steve's mouth in a slow, languid kiss. His hand, that was previously fumbling with his belt, comes up to rest on Steve's cheek and his thumb caresses it. Sudden wetness on Steve's face tells him that Bucky's tears are falling and he tightens his arm around the larger man's neck, gives his all into the kiss.

When they break away for air, Steve pushes at his shoulder until Bucky gets with the program and rolls over to lay on his back, and Steve straddles his thighs, sits on top of where Bucky's bulge is growing softer by the minute. The movement is slow, simple and intimate and in no way sexual. "I love you." Steve tells him again, leans down and kisses Bucky's eyelids, chases away the tears. He then kisses Bucky's forehead, then his nose, then his cheeks, and then he trails soft kisses all over Bucky's face and down his neck. He goes as far as Bucky's uniform shirt would let him, and then he sits back up. "I love you."

Bucky's opens his eyes and two more tears slip down the side of his head, but he's smiling at Steve, "I love you more."

"That's not possible." Steve says with a smile, and leans down to kiss Bucky once more. When they break apart, Steve turns his head sideways and scoots down on Bucky's thighs so he can lay his head on Bucky's chest. He listens to the steady beat of Bucky's heart and smiles at the sound. It's music to his ears. "Protect this heart for me?"

"From what?"

"Anything and everything, Buck. Bullets and shells, and other women and men."

"Can't say nothing 'bout the bullets, Stevie, but I swear to you— there's no one else for me. Only you. Always you."

Steve smiles again and presses a kiss to Bucky's chest, right above his heart. His eyes travel upwards until he's staring at the wall-clock. "Hey, Buck?" Bucky hums contentedly in reply, his hands drawing soft patterns on Steve's naked back. "Baby, I... look at the time."

Bucky's hands halt and his breathing quickens just a little. He turns his head and his eyes find the clock. There's a sudden change beneath Steve's ears; Bucky's heartbeat quickens rapidly. Then he nods slowly, "It's time."

Steve sits up, and slowly slides off Bucky's thighs, head hanging low as realization dawns on him. Bucky's leaving. This is their goodbye.

Bucky sits up, hands cup Steve's face and he brings it closer to himself. Bucky kisses Steve, and that nearly undoes both of them. Then Bucky's abruptly standing, muttering something about his duffel bag, and his uniform coat. Steve remains sitting on the floor as Bucky bustles around him, gathering his things. And when Bucky finally comes to a stop in front of him, Steve looks up at him, and is suddenly taken aback by how gorgeous Bucky is. 

James Buchanan Barnes has always been more handsome than literally all the guys in Brooklyn, but standing there, in an Army uniform, his cap sitting a little crooked on his head; he looks beyond gorgeous. Bucky extends a hand and Steve takes it, let's himself be hauled up and on his feet. Bucky's fixed his shirt and his pants; his shirt is no longer untucked and unbuttoned, and his bulge is no more evident that it usually is. He looks very proper.

They walk very slowly towards the door of their apartment in silence, Bucky's right hand holding his duffel, and his left hand holding Steve's tightly. "Are you gonna see George and Winifred before you go?"

"They said they'd meet me at the station," Bucky replies, "Becca too." Steve nods, doesn't say anything. "I wish you'd come too."

"You don't want all of Brooklyn knowing you're queer, Buck. 'Cause I know how I'd react to you boarding that train."

Bucky chuckles at that, and doesn't reply further. They're standing in front of the door now and Steve uses his free hand to turn the handle. The hallway outside is dimly lit by the early morning sun. Bucky steps outside and puts his duffel down, and turns to Steve. And in a moment, he's got his arms around Steve, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Steve chokes on a sob, and leans his nose into Bucky's neck; inhales his scent deeply. Bucky's tears fall, and drip down Steve's naked shoulder. They stand hugging for nearly five minutes until Bucky has to finally pull away, but he doesn't, instead he just leans back in and kisses Steve square on the mouth. And it's so public and dangerous, it makes Steve's blood rush and his heart thrum with happiness. If their next-door neighbor walked out this second, he'd get an eyeful to last him a lifetime.

When they part, it's with an obscene, wet little _slurp_, and the sound makes Steve blush furiously. Bucky smiles at the color in his lover's cheek, and presses a soft kiss to Steve's left cheekbone. "Promise me that you'll take care of yourself, Stevie."

"Only if you promise to do it too." Steve replies quickly.

Bucky's smile widens and he nods, "Why wouldn't I? I got my sunshine waiting for me back home, don't I?"

Steve's mouth spits into a grin too. He _loves _that particular nickname. "Yeah, you do, Buck, always and forever."

"Always and forever, baby." Bucky replies, briefly kisses Steve once more, then leans down to pick his duffel. He caresses Steve's cheek with the softest of touches and then backs away. Steve's hand drops from Bucky's shoulder and he clutches it to his own heart, watches Bucky walk backwards until he reaches the stairwell, then carefully step down until he's standing at the corner.

"Hey, Buck? Don't you fuckin' die on me, you hear me?"

Bucky smiles, nods and says. "I love you, Steven Grant Rogers, now and forever." Then he steps sideways and disappears around the corner. Steve gasps a little, as if he didn't truly expect Bucky to leave. He stands there for a second more, before he turns quickly and steps back into the apartment. He pushes the door shut with his foot and runs across the living room, towards the little window facing the street. Just like he'd done for many years, Steve leans his head out of it just in time to see Bucky appear on the street.

Instinctively, Bucky looks up, finds his lover in the window and waves, Steve waves back at him. He watches as Bucky hauls the duffel bag up on his shoulder and begins to walk towards the bus stop. There's many men in uniform who stand around the stop, waiting for the 6 o'clock bus to arrive. Steve gets a nauseating feeling of nostalgia as he watches Bucky walk towards the bus stop— he'd done it so many times over the last few years they'd lived together; watched Bucky leave for work in the morning during the winter. Bucky didn't take jobs down at the docks during winter, upon Steve's insistence, he always found work at the factories upstate, so he had to take the bus. And so many times, just like this, Steve had leaned out the window and watched Bucky take the six o'clock bus, knowing that he would be coming back home to him later that evening by the six o'clock bus.

This time, though, Steve knew that Bucky wasn't going to be coming home at six later that evening. He didn't know if Bucky would be coming back at all. But he had to have faith, he had to believe that Bucky would.

After all, he did have his Stevie waiting for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's that.  
God, I wish Bucky Barnes never went to war... you know why? 'Cause he never came back.  
I hope this was alright, it's 2.30 a.m. and I tried my Absolute Best™, please don't hate me.  
I'll probably also edit this later.  
Constructive criticism, comments, and kudos are much appreciated. But most importantly, please comment. It's so important to writers to know just what the readers are thinking. Please, please, please, with a naked Chris Evans on top. Thank you.


End file.
